


A Silent Devotion

by rivlee



Series: The Long Way Home [8]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:42:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes touch can say more than words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Silent Devotion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Steorie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steorie/gifts).



> A ficlet based off of Steorie's amazing fanart pieces seen [here](http://steorie.tumblr.com/post/37198776181/agron-nasir-a-silent-devotion) and [here](http://steorie.tumblr.com/post/37199697656/agron-nasir-a-silent-devotion-2). Written with her permission. I hope you enjoy it, sweetie. :)

Simple things were luxuries in their world. Agron had bartered, bribed, and fought for this time, this room, just for the two of them. Distance had started to grow between Agron and Nasir, the inevitable consequence of leading such large forces. Often it was actual distance, Nasir sent out on scouting parties in one direction while Agron led raids in the other. Lately, though, it was something different; awkward pauses between them when before it was comfortable silence. It felt as if they were starting to forget each other, as if the ties and time between them were starting to fade with each new face met and mission carried out. It was time for their own form of renewal.

Fear was a constant friend of Agron. It was the burden of loving another. A price he willingly paid as son, brother, and beloved. It had its benefits, help stoke the fire needed to fight, to survive, to carry on. It had its price too. Agron’s own rationality was never a certain thing, even less so now with each passing day. Nasir, though, he was reclaiming himself, discovering who the gods intended him to be absent chain and collar of slavery. He grew surer of his actions each day. Where before there was, outside of bouts of anger, a slight hesitance, now Nasir trusted his first impulse and instincts. It was a good thing in a warrior. It still made Agron’s blood run cold at the thought of what could and would happen. Loss was a constant companion these past two years and yet it still struck Agron anew each time. 

Agron brought Nasir into the room he’d secured. It was a secluded, private space just for them. It lacked a bed so Agron guided them to the pile of blankets he’d placed on the floor. He gestured at Nasir to stay silent. He would have this; their quiet hours together with nothing but touch speaking for them, returned. Words were exchanged often enough outside of here, this sanctuary between them. He would cherish this rare and precious gift for when they would separate again. He needed such warm thoughts for desolate nights. 

Agron drank in the sight of Nasir in the low light of the oil lamps. His skin held a sheen, droplets of sweat gathered there from training the recruits. His fingers traced the scars on Nasir’s body, from the fading lines on his cheek to the still red and puckered skin on his side. Nasir’s fingers started to the do the same, lingering over the newest cuts on Agron’s arms. He shifted closer and Agron spread his legs wide and let Nasir slide between them. The harsh cloth of his breeches brushed against Agron’s bare thighs and his breath hitched.

They shared a wicked smile. It would be time yet for such things. Now was still relearning each other. Each mole and freckle, each slope and curve, lips and tongues soon to follow the path set out by hands. Soon Nasir’s deft fingers would untie and ease off Agron’s leg guards, pull off his boots and cast them to the side, hands digging into the calve muscles that rarely saw sunlight. Soon Agron’s fingers would tangle in Nasir’s hair. He’d tug out the long, black cloth holding hair and braid back. He’d set the curly locks free to fall around Nasir’s face. Soon Nasir’s own fingers would dig into the curls at the nape of Agron’s neck, pulling him closer, demanding in a way that never failed to steal his breath. 

For now though, it was just this gentleness. Light kisses, soft breaths, and hints of what would come. This was prayer absent words and typical worship. They’d both thrown down their weapons and armor. Fingers glided over bared skin. It wasn’t rushed or hurried. They had the time. Agron’s fingers caressed the adornments Nasir now wore. Golden, metal, shiny things to replace the wooden and beaded ones of old. The smell of leather was still too much to be around his neck in any large band. Items of wealth, of worth, he wore proudly on his arm and in his ear. Small payments for all the wrongs done against him. None of them were above a little thievery, not when they saw the excess and waste they fought against. The Romans drowned themselves in wealth while their slaves made do with one new piece of clothing each year. Agron knew it wasn’t so simple, not all Romans were evil, not all slaves good, but there was little time for that in-between with war among them and bloodlust covering all. 

Nasir wore less armor, never quite able to adjust to the added weight on his skin. Most of his life in the villa was spent bare-chested in light linen pants. Now the closet thing he wore to armor was a shoulder guard that reminded Agron more of feathers than any form of protection. It was all Nasir would concede to wear though and Agron learned there were some fights he had to lose. 

Agron grew up covered in heavy cloth, fur, and animal skins. He learned to march into battle with the weight of cloak and shield upon him. Even in the arena there was still that adjustment to be made for the frills of the costume and the change in vision from the helmets. Agron now wore straps and buckles in place of deer hides. 

Agron wore this too, this unseen cloak of love and protection. This was his source of strength, a shield of silent devotion. A luxury that could never be found in the richest man’s villa. No weapon could destroy this, a gift which would carry him even into the next world. Even if they did separate here, if more earthly concerns and others tore them apart for a time, it could never destroy _this_ ; a sacred rite all of its own. 

Fear, sorrow, anger, they would always be his closest companions. Love itself was a fleeting and fickle thing. Nasir, though, he was more and his very presence offered a protection like Agron had never known or would again. He could get through this war, and what would come after, with this warming his very soul.


End file.
